


Just A Little More

by fullmoon_nightowl



Series: masquerade [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deception, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27751678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmoon_nightowl/pseuds/fullmoon_nightowl
Summary: What to do when you’re a shapeshifter and run into an unsuspecting Dean WInchester on his night off? You could just kill him. Or you could have a little fun first. Especially if you can turn into an attractive woman that Winchester would definitely go home with.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: masquerade [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1250426
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Fall 2020





	Just A Little More

**Author's Note:**

> _A shapeshifter decides to turn into a beautiful woman to get a Winchester alone to kill them. But when they start flirting, the shapeshifter thinks, maybe just some making out. Then they think, maybe just one fuck._
> 
> Many, many thanks to ilikaicalie and masja_17 for being awesome betas.

She’s heard of the Winchesters. Of course, she has. After Eve came to earth, everyone knew the Winchesters. And now, he’s here. The older brother, Dean. The brawns of the operation, who killed Eve herself.

Tyler’s currently in the form of a sixty-seven-year-old retired widower who lives alone in a nice house. She needed a break from all the traveling, and all the killing to be honest. Taking out an old guy who never interacts with anyone other than the bartender in his favorite bar that he goes to once a week, hell yeah. Tyler’s been doing the whole Netflix and chill, takeout routine for a week and it’s been great. She hasn’t been bored yet. She’s avoided trouble. And Winchester is definitely trouble. He’s killed many of her kind. But to get one up on him...

She watches Winchester and he seems harmless enough. Sure, he’s got the shoulders and he’s definitely packing a gun, but he drinks his whiskey in silence, only occasionally flirting with the bartender. Who is a pretty woman.

And well.

Winchester is very handsome. He’d be fun to flirt with. Maybe get him out in the alley, make out with him, make it so he never sees the knife coming…

Tyler leaves the bar. They’re just two blocks from a twenty-four-seven city Target and she grabs some pretty underwear, a short skirt and a top, heels and then goes to the dressing rooms.

Tyler changes into Vanessa, who was probably the hottest woman she ever met. Tall and leggy, long dark hair and full, rosy lips.

She twirls in the mirror and yeah, she looks good. She picks up mascara on the way out and then her outfit’s perfect.

She saunters back to the bar, a little slower on the heels, and hopes Winchester is still there.

He is.

She leans up against the bar next to him and orders a whiskey.

Winchester turns to her, an eyebrow raised in appreciation. She gives him a smile. “Great minds think alike,” she says and nods at his own glass.

“Seems that way, yeah.” He takes a moment, obviously thinking about his next move, then he asks, “so, celebration or self-medication?”

That startles a laugh out of her. She’d thought he’d go with the whole women and whiskey routine that she got in the past. But he doesn’t and she appreciates that he doesn’t stumble over the lowest of bars. “Both? A new project which is going to be some work, but it’s also a challenge.”

“And you like that?” Winchester asks. “A challenge?”

“Definitely.”

Winchester raises his glass then. “To a challenge.”

They clink glasses and he’s watching her the entire time. Oh, she’s got him; hook, line, and sinker. This is going to be fun.

Half an hour later, they’re still sitting at the bar. They’ve even switched to beer. Tyler can’t believe it. She thought Winchester would be a hey-let's-get-some-fresh-air after five minutes kind of guy, but he’s taking his time. Asking her questions, listening to her answers. And he can’t believe that he needs to put in the work because she’s been putting out enough take-me-now-I’m-willing-signs that even the astronauts on the ISS could pick up on her willingness.

To her horror, she actually kind of enjoys talking to him. He’s a good storyteller, a little corny but with enough going on under the surface that it’s intriguing. And considering she knows the truth, it’s kind of fun how he lies around his life while still being honest. His brother features prominently in his stories, like his car and the life on the road.

Tyler admits to being a nomad herself, with no family, just jumping from job to job, whatever catches her eyes. Winchester doesn’t judge her for it, doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at it and it’s kind of nice to talk to someone who’s so accepting.

When her beer is empty, he looks at her bottle. “Do you want another one? Or…” He lets it hang there, mouth pursed and she kinda wants to bite his bottom lip. He's really way too pretty to be a hunter.

“Or?” she asks.

“Well, I don’t have a place I could invite you to, but if you want to get out of here…”

“I’m renting a house,” she says before he can bring up his car. “If you can ignore that it came with a decor that includes a lot of doilies, then we could go to my place.”

He gives her a leering smile that’s still kind of charming on his face. “Trust me, I’m not gonna be looking at the decor.”

She smiles despite herself, then stands.

He pays without a fuss, though she’s pretty sure that it’s illegally acquired money—it’s not like hunting pays—then they leave.

“I walked here,” she says.

He motions her. “Lead the way.”

She pauses in front of the alley. It would be a perfect spot for a discreet kill.

“What?” he asks and she can see him going tense. Hunter’s instincts.

“Well, I don’t take home just anyone.”

His eyebrows rise.

Tyler smirks. “Not without taking them for a test drive first.”

“A test drive?” he says, kind of stunned, like he’s expecting a fuck in the alley, but she just goes up on her tiptoes and kisses him.

Winchester has excellent reflexes, snakes one arm around her waist and the other comes up to cradle her face while he kisses her with the skill of a man who's spent his life on the road, falling in bed with a different woman in every town.

He’s softer and more respectful than she thought he’d be—he lets her lead and set the tone, but when she tugs on the hair at the back of his neck he takes the hint and grips her a little tighter, kisses her a little dirtier.

At some point, he pulls back. There’s a light flush high on his cheeks and his lips are even redder than before. “So. Do I pass?”

It takes Tyler a moment to remember her excuse and she’s already nodding when she does. And well. She never liked people playing with their food, but this is Dean Winchester, she should savor that.

So she takes his hand. “Come on. It isn’t far.”

They walk quickly and he doesn’t seem to mind that she never lets go of his hand. They kiss again in the front yard of the house and then she opens the door, turns on the light, and he whistles. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the doilies.”

“I thought you weren’t going to look at the furniture.”

He holds up his hands and laughs. It makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’m sorry, I really am. I just didn’t expect there to be so many. Wow, are there doilies on the bookshelves? Man, that’s commitment.”

“Well, if it helps, I cleaned them out of the bedroom.”

His eyes zero in on her laser-fast and then he’s there with two big steps kissing her again. She just melts into it. Now that they’re out of the smelly bar, she can smell him. Beer and whiskey, leather and gunpowder. Fuck. It turns her on more than anything, and even though it’s not the smart move, she really doesn’t want to kill him yet.

Instead, she pushes his jacket off his shoulders and he goes with it, lets her further undress him. She stops when she sees the tattoo on his chest. A pentagram encircled by a flame.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a family thing,” he says and starts pulling at her shirt.

She’s sure it has meaning, power even. Demons maybe?

She stops thinking about that when he gets her out of her top. His hands are sure and steady. They’re strong and know how to touch her, how to hold her tight without hurting her. It’s a rush; to have this hunter’s, this _killer’s_ hands on her, and bring only pleasure, no pain. He’s kissing down her neck, slipping the straps of her bra off her shoulders. His mouth traces the swell of her breasts while his hands come up to cup her. Fuck, he knows what he’s doing.

She arches her back, holds on to his broad shoulders, and gets a hand into his hair. He makes an appreciative sound and goes lower, sucks her nipple through the thin fabric of the lace bra she’s wearing. Eventually, she tugs at his hair to get him up again and he takes direction beautifully. She’s surprised again, but he kisses her, hands resting lightly on her hips, almost like he’s waiting for her. She presses in closer, rubs herself against his front, and feels his dick hard in his jeans.

“Let’s move away from the doilies.”

“Yes, please,” he says and his voice is about an octave deeper than before and runs down her spine like good whiskey warms her stomach.

She takes his hand and leads him up the stairs. She walks a little faster than usual, but she’s already getting wet, her body responding to his touch and the thrill, and she is definitely not killing him until he inevitably fucks up and ruins this encounter, like most men she has met.

Once they’re in the bedroom she tugs on his belt, opens his pants. His hands get busy with her bra and she’s not surprised when he gets it open on the second try.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He sounds like he means it, like it’s not just a cheesy line, and even though this is Vanessa’s body, he’s validating her choices.

She toes out of her heels and suddenly she’s three inches shorter and has to look up to him.

He takes her into his arms and leans down to suck at her nipple again, without the layer of fabric between them. She moans, because it feels good and because he took note that she likes it and is doing it again.

She walks backwards to the bed but holds on to him and he follows her, mouth on her skin, with a little bit of teeth now, though not enough to leave a corny mark.

“Jesus Christ, really?”

His head comes up to look at her in concern. “What?”

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“You’re ridiculous,” she informs him and reaches for his belt to distract him.

“Ridiculous?” he asks, eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

“Ridiculously good at this,” she says.

He grins, wide and bright, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his tongue peeking out. “Thank you. But just wait until you see me getting out of my boots.”

She laughs and he keeps smiling. She steps back. “Go on then. De-mystify yourself.”

He laughs and goes over to the bed. He’s fairly quick at unlacing his boots and taking them off, socks and all, and it’s not exactly de-mystifying, but it’s also not particularly sexy.

She sinks down between his legs and reaches for his belt again. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I try,” he says, but his voice hitches when she opens his pants and leans in to pull down his black briefs and lick at the head of his dick.

He inhales sharply and one of his hands wraps around the back of her head and she thinks now, now he’s gonna fuck up and she’s gonna get her knife out—but he just holds her, fingers gentle in her hair.

If she weren't having so much fun sucking his dick, she’d be annoyed. Instead, she focuses on taking him deep and listening to his labored breathing. His dick is a good size, thick enough that it makes her jaw strain in a good way and long enough to hit the back of her throat while leaving her room to squeeze the base.

“Fuck.” His hands tighten on her hair, but he still doesn’t push, lets her set the pace, and just holds on for the ride.

When she’s had enough and her pussy is throbbing at the neglect, she pulls back, pulls down her skirt and panties, and climbs into his lap. He reaches for her and stabilizes her but before she can get anywhere near his dick, he says, “do you have anything? Otherwise, I’m gonna need my wallet.”

It’s not like she can get an STD and a shift would take care of any danger of pregnancy immediately, but he doesn't know that. And she likes that it's not even an issue with him. The bars are so low for men, but most would have stumbled over one of them by now anyway.

She leans over to the side, but she's too far away from the nightstand. But his strong hands are on her hips, so she just keeps leaning and he studies her.

“Whoa.” His hands clench and he adjusts his grip.

She laughs and pulls open the drawer. “What, this is working great.”

He snorts. When she has the condoms, he flips her around so that her back hits the mattress. “My turn,” he says, then he scoots down between her legs.

“Oh fuck.”

He chuckles, then kisses his way down her body, sucks at her nipple, playfully bites at her belly button. Then down between her legs, and he doesn’t shy away from the fact that she’s not shaved, just pushes one leg over his shoulder and licks through her slit.

She moans, she’s so wet already and his hot breath sends shivers down her spine. Then there’s the pressure of his tongue, sliding in between her lips and rubbing along her clit. She arches up and he goes with it, rides the choppy movements of her hips, sucks and kisses her, drags his teeth along her lips in a tease, adds a finger, and rubs her, and fuck, she wants him now, deep inside.

“Come on.”

He slides two fingers into her, which is not enough, she wants more, she can take it and she raises her hips demandingly.

He sucks her harder, holds her tighter and it’s so fucking good but not enough. She sits up, pushes his shoulder, and then she just presses him back, so that he’s on his back and crawls up his body. Somehow he already got the condom pack open and she just has to take it out and roll it on his dick.

He’s watching her like a hawk, chest rising and falling visibly, his dick straining. She straddles his lap, grips his dick, and then guides him inside.

“Fuck yeah.”

She sits down, and her eyes close. “Fuck, just like that.”

His hands come up to her hips and she opens her eyes, looks down into his, glowing bright green in the bedroom light and she just _wants_. She starts riding him and he raises his hips to meet her.

He starts stroking her pussy, slowly rubs her clit and she’s going to come in like two minutes if he doesn’t tone it down. But she wants it to last.

“Come up here.”

He licks his lips, then sits up, stomach muscles tensing under the thin layer of fat on his belly. She holds on to his shoulders, covered in thick muscles, not gym-defined but built from work, from killing, but he’s hand-tame now and when she pushes her tits into his face, he eagerly sucks at her nipple.

She groans, grips his hair and his hands tighten on her hips, his lips close tightly around a nipple and everything ratchets up at once. She’s feeling hot in her skin, hot under his hands and mouth, and she’s so close.

She rides him harder and faster and he moans into her tits, loses focus, pants against her slick skin, and finally, _finally_ , starts breaking, starts chasing his own pleasure. And she wants to see it. Wants to see what he can do.

She leans back. “Come on. Fuck me like you mean it.”

One of his arms snakes around her waist and he pushes up, twists them around, and then she’s on her back and he’s pushing into her with all that grave-digging strength of his.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He’s panting and his mouth is frantic on her skin.

“Yeah, so close.”

He reaches down again and even though his movements are rushed, he still manages to stroke her clit. The drag and the weight of his dick so deep inside her and then the pressure on her clit are enough to send her over the edge. The tension releases, slams through her and he’s there, fucking her through it, before he finally stills, panting harshly.

She’s still riding the high, feeling soft and floaty and he’s there to kiss her, mouth soft and sloppy and she leans into it.

Eventually, he rolls off of her and gets rid of the condom. Instead of leaving, he flops down next to her.

“So. That was…”

“Yeah.” She grins.

When she looks over he still looks a little poleaxed but also sated and happy.

She kind of wants to curl into him and enjoy the afterglow, but this is Dean Winchester, surely he’s the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. Instead of getting up, he just looks at her.

“If I go to the bathroom, will you still be here when I get back?” she asks.

For a moment, he looks torn, but then he smiles. “Yeah.”

She gets up and walks over to the bathroom. Once she closes the door, she hears him get up. She reaches for the knife hidden behind the toilet tank. There's some rustling, then it’s quiet again. She waits, but nothing happens. She quickly hits the flush, but still nothing.

She puts the knife down again and opens the door. He’s sitting on the bed in his boxers, typing away on his phone.

“You texting another woman?”

He looks up at her. “If by ‘other woman’ you mean the six foot four pain in my ass little brother, then yes.”

She laughs. “You love him a lot, don’t you?”

“What, you get that from the pain in my ass?”

“No, I get that from the way your eyes get all soft when you talk about him.”

For the first time this evening, he becomes strangely bashful, scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah well, it’s just us, has just been us for a long time. I mean, I basically raised the kid because our dad was never around.”

Ah yes, the infamous John Winchester, hunter extraordinaire himself. The mention of Dean’s family hits her hard. She had a plan here, and instead, she’s standing naked in the bedroom of a guy she killed, talking family with a fucking hunter when she’s never even known her own.

“So, does your little brother demand your attention at your motel?”

Something flits over Dean’s face, then he smiles lightly. “Nah. He can live without me for one night. Unless you want me to leave. No hard feelings.”

And she thinks about it. About him staying the night. She could murder him in his sleep. Or she could go back to bed again and make him come with her mouth this time. Maybe for once fall asleep with someone who has no expectation, no illusions. Someone who understands the nomadic life, telling half-true stories, the loneliness of the road.

She can still kill him in the morning.

“Stay,” she says, and her voice comes out kind of rough.

She isn't sure what her face is doing, but Dean stands and walks over to her. He bends down to kiss her, slow and soft, and she lets herself sink into it. Yeah, killing him can definitely wait until tomorrow.


End file.
